


And Sundries

by QueSeraAwesome



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Down-time, F/F, F/M, Gen, Gen Fic, Humor, M/M, Multi, One Shot Collection, Project Freelancer, various pairings - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 07:30:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 9,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3319166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueSeraAwesome/pseuds/QueSeraAwesome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All of the bits, pieces, and smaller things I liked enough to move over from Tumblr, but not large enough for their own entry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Pairings will vary. Individual triggers at the beginning of each chapter.

They often get put on missions together. They’re not exactly team players, which is precisely why they work together so well.

This time, they’re handed the keeps to a Warthog, a pair of sniper rifles,the name of a city, and a name. Florida leaves the rifle behind, packs his knives. Some people you just can’t change.

They’re driving, on their way to that city and that name, when Florida starts messing with the radio. Wyoming glares at him.

"I’ve got one word for you: sing-along!" Florida says, grinning. He’s got his helmet off for once, his ponytail streaming behind him form the wind.

"No," Wyoming says. "None of your heathen hippie music. I’m not singing that nonsense."

"Yes, you will," Florida says, fumbling for something in his bandolier. "You’ll like it, I swear. Sing-a-longs promote team bonding and strong manly affection! Besides, it’s not _my_ music, I packed the music of your people!”

Before he can be stopped (and who is Wyoming kidding, Butch can never be stopped. It’s one of his better qualities) he’s pulled an audio disk out and stuck it in the Warthog’s audio interface.

Spice Girls spills out of the radio. _I tell you what I want, what I really really want— So tell me whatchu want—_

Wyoming nearly drives into a ditch.

Florida doesn’t even pause in his singing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Norkalina, snuggles

Carolina walks the halls at night, sometimes. Most people know that. No one really says anything about it; they all know the kinds of things that keep people like them awake. None of them came to this program straight out of Basic. They’ve all seen something. So no one says anything if someone needs to take a walk at night, and they definitely don’t say anything when that person is the Boss.

If she ends up, some nights, at York’s door, no one says anything about that, either.

Carolina turns the handle. It’s unlocked. The corner of her mouth quirks up, just a bit and she steps from the gloom of the hallway to the gloom of the room. When she closes the door behind her, she locks it.

York and North share a room. No one ever asks where North goes, when Carolina’s path brings her to York’s door. (Wherever they think he goes, they’re wrong.)

They’ve pushed the bunks together, tonight.

They’re not small people, her boys. She’s not exactly diminutive either, out of armor. The hairs on the top of North’s head brush the headboard, his toes, covered by a blanket, fall off the end. For a program that employs so many hulking, abnormally tall soldiers, they didn’t exactly put that into consideration when they bought the bunks. They didn’t consider how to fit more than one soldier in a bunk either (she can see how that might not have been on their minds).

They make it work.

North and York are both sleeping on their sides, curled towards each other like parentheses. They’ve left a space between them, where the bunks meet. They’ve already fallen asleep. It was a hard day of training today. They’re all tired. Tomorrow will probably be harder. Seems to be going that way, these days.

Carolina pads to the bed, lays a soft hand on York’s shoulder. He turns to her, eyes unfocused with sleep.

“‘Lina.”

She takes the hand he reaches out to her, tangles their fingers together.

"Move over," she says.

He makes a face at her, shoves over. He likes to be in the middle, but goes without overmuch protest. Carolina clambers over him, settles herself down between them.

North smiles at her, a sleepy smile. He kisses her. She winds an arm around his waist and settles down. She doesn’t mind sleeping in the dip. The benefits outweigh the cons.

North turns over in her grip, scoots backwards until they’re lying flush against each other, her arm still wrapped around his waist. She rests her cheek against his shoulder blade. She can feel it everywhere when he inhales, chest expanding, air filling his lungs, and then exhaling in a sigh of contentment. North is big and broad against her, and all of him feels happy.

York snuggles against her back, his hand coming to rest protectively over her stomach. She can feel him nosing into her hair, feel him breathing her in.

"Late," York whispers.

"Tell me you set an alarm," she counters.

York shrugs, and their shoulders brush, skin against skin. He’s a solid line of heat against her back, in the chill of the ship. The ship is always a bit cold. The Director had provided for them many things, but warmth wasn’t one of them. That’s okay. They make their own.

"I did," North says. "Go to sleep."

York laughs quietly against the back of her neck, warm puffs of air. Carolina smiles, enjoys the stretch and pull of her lips, the movement of muscles. It feels good to smile. It feels good not to hide a smile.

Together, they sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix and Locus, reference to violence and death of the perpetrated-by-Felix-and-Locus variety.

"Where the fuck did that clown come from?" Felix asks, wiping off his blade on the grass.

"It doesn’t matter," Locus responds. "It’s dead."

It _is_ dead. So is everyone else in this small town. A very small town. Small, and isolated enough that this one, they could just take care of themselves, instead of dragging it into the Civil War kicking and screaming and full of people also soon to die.

"But where did it come from?" Felix presses. "Like is there a circus in town? I didn’t think Chorus had any circuses left."

Locus grunts noncommittally, his usual response when he thinks Felix is running his mouth too much but doesn’t feel like ordering him to shut up yet.

"You know…" Felix says after a moment. "If there is a circus…"

Locus feels something like alarm.

"No."

"…I want an elephant."

"No."

"I’ll be like one of those old Earth kings who traveled on elephants."

"Absolutely not."

"Or a lion! If there’s lions, I am totally keeping one."

"Foolish."

"I will totally feed you to my new pet lion."

"Felix—" Locus growls, body posture turning dangerous. Felix pays no mind, as per usual.

"I’m trading you in for a lion partner next chance I get," he says. "Less growling, more horrible grisly murder. Or, maybe not. Maybe I have that backwards. Anyway, let’s find this circus, right?"

"We are on a mission," Locus growls, following him. "Eliminate—"

"Eliminate Chorus’s population. It’s _human_ population. No one said anything about lions. Or elephants. _Loophole._ ”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blood, canon-typical violence

"I’m sorry," Butch says, smiling that Cheshire-cat smile. "Could you repeat that?"

Wyoming grins.

"Knock, knock," he says.

"Who’s there?"

"Howie."

"Howie who?"

"Howie going to hide this dead body?"

Florida looks at him, just stares at him for an overly long moment, the kind of overly long moment that gets him kicked out of the Freelancer’s regular social activities. Wyoming just waits.

Florida looks at him. Looks down. Looks at the blood on his boots. Looks at the bodies of the Insurrectionists around them.

"Dead _bodies_ ,” he corrects.

Wyoming waits.

"Ha," Butch says, finally. "That’s a _good one_ , Reggie.”

"I thought so."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Florida(or Flowers)/anyone of your choice kissed them as a distraction while stealing their wallet au   
> Triggers for what falls best under the category of a dubious-consent kiss.

"No way, he’d never fall for it," York says, "doesn’t matter who tried it, not even Wyoming could pull that off."

"You’d lose a hand trying," CT agrees.

Maine gets up, and at first they think he just wants more food (because he always wants more food) but then he stalks over toward Flowers, purpose in his step, ignores Butch’s greeting of “Hey, big boy, what’s happening?” to pick the tinier Freelancer up (and here, Flowers goes for his knife), throw him against the wall (that knife is at Maine’s throat) and kiss him so hard his head tips back like a damn romantic comedy heroine’s, one of Maine’s large hands spread over his heart, the other wrapped possessively around his hip.

When he deposits the now dazed-looking Freelancer back on the floor he does go for thirds (or fourths, who’s counting) after all, so it’s at least ten minutes later when he sits down next to CT again, takes a big bite of a banana and quietly places Butch’s wallet on the table in front of her.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for CarWash siblings.

After he joins the Program, she seeks him out in private. Finds him in the locker room.

"Agent Washington," she says, smile apparent in her voice, for all he can’t see it beneath her helmet. "David."

"You’re not supposed to call me that anymore," Wash says, focusing on adjusting his gloves. He tilts his head at her, a tease and she places her hands on her hips in mock-annoyance. A thing she picked up from their mother. He’s not sure if she remembers that. "It’s good to see you, sis."

"Good to see you too," she says, tone warm.

She doesn’t take off her helmet. Wash wonders how often she does, anymore.

"Has he spoken to you?" she asks, sitting next to him on the bench.

"Nah. Beyond what was clearly just an orientation speech? Nah," Wash says. reaching down to adjust his boots now. New armour always needs adjusting, but they did a pretty good job on this set. Tailored. Not like the bargain-bin stuff he’s been working in. "You?"

"No."

He doesn’t ask her how long she’s been involved with the program. He’s got a pretty good idea. It’s been a while. Long enough for him, for the Director, to open up and talk, if he were going to. He wishes he were more surprised.

"This is one hell of a mess," he says. He doesn’t have to say what.

"Yeah," she says. "It is."

Because it is. Their father, the Director, their boss. His sister, his leader, his boss. The layers of military duty, rusting familial ties, and hierarchy in this family are dizzying.

"We probably shouldn’t tell anyone about this," Carolina says carefully. "Any of it."

"Agreed," Wash says,wiggling his toes in his boot. Perfect. "I’m not anxious to just be your baby brother forever. And besides, that way this means no embarrassing stories. Right? Right.”

"I’m sure I can contain myself," Carolina says.

Wash snorts a disbelieving laugh, finishes with the boots and stands.

"How do I look?" he asks. She tilts her head at him.

"Like a road," she says. "Gray and yellow, Da- Wash?"

"This was the least stupid color they offered me," he replies snottily. "What are you wearing? What color even is that?"

Carolina shrugs.

"I’ve got a camo-unit," she says.

"Really? Wash asks. "I heard rumors about the tech they gave these guys, but—"

"That’s only the tip of the iceburg, kiddo," Carolina says. "They’ve got plans for—"

"You probably shouldn’t call me that either," Wash interrupts. "Kiddo."

Carolina laughs.

"If you don’t think some of the others are going to call you kiddo, or worse, you’re in or it," she says. "Which speaking of, it’s about time you started meeting you new team. C’mon."

They fall into step with each other. Like they never went different ways, like it hasn’t been years since they were shoulder to shoulder. There are some things that are bone deep.

"Watch out for Florida," she says as they walk out of the locker room. "Also, South bites."


	7. Chapter 7

Felix eyes Locus warily over the table. Locus stares impassively back. Or at least, Felix is pretty sure he does. The guy doesn’t take off that helmet much anymore. The rest of their squad eyes them warily.

Felix doesn’t break eye contact. Breaking eye contact is paramount to defeat, and there’s no way he’s losing this one.

The squad monthly poker game is serous business. And Felix has his eye on a new SMG. It’s got orange accents. 

Orange, he has decided, is totally his color.

Locus is totally bluffing. He never backs down when Felix ups his bet. He also seems to have a sixth sense by now for when Felix is bluffing. It’s really fucking annoying, like the most annoying thing ever. The bad thing about having a hatelationship with someone is how well they get to know you, get to know your tells.

Felix glances at the pot, glances at his cards. He’s bluffing. Or course he’s bluffing. But he’s pretty sure his shitty cards are better than whatever shitty cards Locus has. He’ll bet that new SMG on it.

"Are these guys for serious? It’s just poker," one of the squad mates faux-whispers. "When I got assigned to this squad they made it sound like these guys were friends."

"Don’t be ridiculous," Felix replies. "We’re enemies. We’re just focused on shooting the same people at present."

"Shut up," Locus says. "Call."

They lay down their hands. It’s junk. All junk. It’s going to take a minute to tell who’s junk is better than the other’s.

"Haaaa," Felix says. "Knew you were bluffing."

"Actually," one of the new squadmates interjects. Felix hasn’t bothered to remember her name yet. "I’m still in. And I think I won.”

She flips over three jacks.

Felix look at her cards. Looks at her. Looks at Locus. Looks at the considerable amount of money on the table.

"Well, fuck."


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt, Churboose, meeting the hot new neighbor AU

The text message Tucker gets from Caboose says:

“hi tucker so you cannot come over today okay not today i will talk to you later do not come over today yes bye.”

Which is more articulate than his usual text messages but also really weird. So, of course, Tucker does the Asshole Friend thing and shows up anyway.

What he finds is a hallway full of boxes, and vague crashing noises from the apartment across from Caboose’s, but when he tries to stick his head in to see, Caboose’s appears like fucking magic, his mammoth fucking palm covering Tucker’s face, and shoves him back in the hallway.

"Tucker you are not supposed to be here," Caboose shout-whispers. "I am helping my new neighbor with his boxes and also his stuff, you have to go away. He is going to be _my_ new friend, you can’t steal him yet!"

"Hey, Caboose, where’d you go?" calls a voice from inside the apartment.

"He sounds hot. Is he hot?" Tucker asks. "Is that why you don’t want me—" and he’d finish the question, but Caboose actually picks him up, lugs him down the hallway and closes the door in his face, so that’s probably answer enough


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More CarWash siblings

"I think you missed you calling, Wash," she teases, watching him skateboard around the training room during downtime. They’re the only ones there, for once.

"Shut up," he says, doing some sort of complicated flip-kicking kind of thing that is probably harder than it looks. "It’s got lots of practical applications for our work. Like—"

"You don’t have to tell me," she says. "Just don’t let the Director catch you with that thing. You’re a soldier, remember?"

Wash slows to a halt, the drag of the wheels against the harsh floor loud in the quiet of the room, a frown marring his previously happy expression.

"What?" she asks.

"Nothing," he says. "I just feel like I’m thirteen again."

Carolina remembers when Wash was thirteen. It wasn’t a good year. But better than some that came after it. Better than some of the ones before. Thirteen for Wash, a mixture year of teenage rebellion, and desperately trying to figure out what the rules even were in the first place. He hadn’t liked hearing about what their Dad might think through her then, either.

Wash rolls toward the ramp-like structure he’d gotten FILIS to bring up for him, determination in the set of his shoulders.

"…I’ll leave you to it," she says, standing.

He doesn’t need her to watch all his tricks anymore.

_Sis, see what I can do! Are you watching?_

_You’re gonna get it taken away, if he sees you!_

_“_ See you later, Carolina,” he says.

"See you."


	10. Chapter 10

"South."

South freezes, bent over Wash’s sleeping form. More importantly, her hands still on the bowl of hair dye she’s holding.

Her posture says guilt, but when she turns to Connie, arms crossed over her chest in the doorway, her expression says defiance, mischief.

"Aww, come _on,”_ South whines. “He’s the one who fell asleep. _In public_ , even.”

Connie raises her eyebrows at her.

"I mean, just imagine if it was Florida that found him. He’s getting off easy. Or York! I’m just teaching the little doofus a lesson. Just one eensy-weensy teenie-meanie- dip-dye job. Really. I’m practically a saint."

Wash goes on snoozing into the tabletop, blissfully unaware that the fate of his blond locks goes contested over his head.

"If you dye it purple he’ll know it was you," Connie says finally. "C’mon, let’s mix up a better color before he wakes up."


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grimmons chapter, series of short prompts form tumblr

**Trapped in a bank during a robbery AU**

 

"HOW DO YOU SLEEP THROUGH A BANK ROBBERY, GRIF? THEY HAD GUNS— AND WERE SHOOTING THEM! I THOUGHT WE WERE GONNA DIE."

"Look, I was asleep, you fainted, we were both unconscious when the police arrived, nobody’s coming out looking like a hero, here."

 

**Spy forced to protect a civilian, who got caught up in his mission through a zany series of events AU**

 

"Good luck with your new assignment," his partner, Agent Double-Oh-Donut, says over his earpiece, “‘cause it seems like that Grif guy sure does get into a lot of trouble for a guy who doesn’t move much. You better watch his rear."

"Oh my _god_ , Donut, I’m not going to hit on the asset, what’s wrong with you!?”

"I’m just saying, you better keep an eye him, because he’s certainly keeping an eye on _you_ and your *ahem* _assets_ , and also he’s escaped to go try to find oreos again.”

 

  
**Hogwarts AU**   


 

"I swear to god, you are the wimpiest Slytherin I have ever met. Aren’t you guys supposed to be, like, dark and broody and scary and shit?"

"Whatever, Grif. I’m just waiting for the day the Ravenclaws officially excommunicate you and you have to live in the hallway like a hobo."

 

**Truth or Dare**

 

"Simmons play Truth or Dare with me."

"Truth."

"Nah, you picked Dare, I Dare you to get me some more oreos."


	12. Chapter 12

Jensen’s the first to get to the crash, and almost instantly wishes she hadn’t been. Because this ship, though small, isn’t from Chorus. She can tell by the engines, this isn’t one of the cobbled-together dinosaurs of the New Republic fleet, this isn’t even one of the slick, mass-produced and crumbling tatters of the Feds’. This was built for space travel. This ship isn’t from Chorus.

She waves both her squad members back, back behind the treeline, and Volleyball and Brooke halt. She can tell from the tilt of Volleyball’s helmet that she’s not pleased, Jensen standing out there, exposed, the hulk of the ship looming before her. 

Jensen prays that Brooke’s got her sniper out. They might need her quick reflexes— _Jensen_ might need them, if this turns south.

"Hello?" she calls out, willing her voice not to wobble. She’s a lieutenant now, she’s LT. She helped save her Captain’s life. Her voice shouldn’t wobble anymore. "Anyone…alive…in there?"

The crashed ship doesn’t respond. Katie sighs. These things are never easy. She throws back a subtle signal, _stay put_. She’s not bringing them in until she’s sure it’s safe.

(It hovers in the back of her mind, that no one knows where Felix and Locus are, that they haven’t been able to locate them since the battle and she ignores the shiver under her skin.)

She begins searching for a door, and that’s when she hears it. A noise, faint, from inside the ship. Jensen frowns, tilts her head, listening. It’s getting farther away. She follows it to a door, but the frame’s slightly smashed, squashed during the crash. Jensen tries the handle, but it’s stuck. It’s take something very strong to pry it open, if only she had a—

The door slams open and everything happens very fast. 

She sees something, the glint of an edge and thinks _knife_ , her gun goes off and she _missed_ , she knows she missed and Volleyball’s yelling and breaking the treeline, Anjali, _no-_

And suddenly everything’s yellow and Jensen goes down. 

She opens her eyes and there’s a yellow-armored soldier holding her down. Well, more accurately, kinda laying on top of her. The stranger doesn’t seem perturbed by this.

"Hi!" she says (yells) in Jensen’s face. "Oh my god, you’re alive! You have nooo idea how good it is to see someone alive. Where the fuck am I?"

Volleyball and Brooke halt a few meters away. Jensen sees Brooke try to surreptitiously raise her sniper rifle, but Volleyball stops her. and a frantic whispered conversation takes place. _No, you could hit Katie. No, I won’t! We can’t risk it—_

"Chorus," Jensen says, trying to get her heart to stop beating out of her chest. The grav hammer swinging in the stranger’s hand  is large, and very near her head and it wouldn’t take much from her to pull back and Brooke might not have time to get a shot in—.

"Cool," the stranger says. She sits up, swings the gravity hammer back onto her back and Jensen blinks. "Where’s that?"

Jensen stares at her. The strange soldier sits back on her haunches, perched on top of Jensen’s hips— let’s be real, she’s straddling her— and the tilt of her helmet is…friendly?

"Identify yourself," Jensen squeaks, trying to wrestle back some control of the situation. "You’ve crash landed in the middle of a warzone and—

"Ohhh _man_ ,” the stanger sighs explosively, considerable heft of her chestplate heaving with the motion. “Not another one. Oh, and I’m Kaikaina. Who’re you?”

 _”_ Lieutenant Katie Jensen, Red Squad, New Republic Military,” Jensen recites before she can think about it. 

"Reds? _Gross._ Go Blues!”

Jensen’s face lights up with shame.

"Hey, we’re _improving_ ,” she snaps, sitting up on her elbows. “We even beat Orange Squad at combat maneuvers last week.”

"Orange Squad?" the stranger asks. "Whoever heard of Orange Squad? When’d they start adding colors? Awww man!"

"Wait a minute," Volleyball interrupts. "You said you don’t even know where Chorus is, how’d you know about Blue Squad?"

“‘Cuz I was _on_ Blue Squad. _Duh_.”

Jensen and Volleyball exchange a look. After awhile you get to recognize the faces around base (or at least the helmets). Hers isn’t familiar. 

"You fought with Captain Caboose?" Jensen asks.

"Oh no," the stranger says brightly. "The guy I fought with was _Private_ Caboose.”

"Ohhhkay. I think you should probably come with us," Jensen says. "And maybe let me up?"

"Cool!" The stranger—Kaikaina, she said her name was says, rolling off her. She stands and stretches, and it’s hard not to stare. She’s tall, taller than Jensen (but that isn’t exactly hard), shorter than Volleyball. And even in armor, it’s hard not to notice her curves, the curve of her hips and breasts, the curves of her biceps. "Have you got any food?"

Jensen blinks. 

"Yeah," she says, scrambling to her feet. She wonders if she should make some attempt to take her into custody or anything. "If you’ll just follow us back to—"

"Wait a minute!" the stranger yells. "How do I know you’re not, like, aliens, or robots or some shit?"

Jensen gapes. 

"What?"

"For all I know, you guys could be aliens under there! And I know where that goes! Dog-kid city!"

"Exactly what kind of life have you been _living_?” Volleyball asks. 

"Lady, that is a question I’ve been asking myself since the space-rave-pirate-Queen incident a few years ago," Kaikaina says. "Anyway, I’m not going _anywhere_ with you people until I’m sure you’re people! I am _not_ getting stuck with baby-sitting duty again.”

Volleyball just shrugs at her over the new girl’s head. 

"Here," this Kaikaina says. "I’ll go first!"

The stranger reaches up (Volleyball’s hand twitches on her pistol) and levers off her helmet. Dark hair tumbles out, messy and chin length and falling over her face. She’s got a round face, sharp cheekbones, laughing dark eyes. She’s really pretty and Jensen definitely isn’t thinking about that. She definitely isn’t thinking about that talk she and Volleyball had a week or two back about being open to finding another girlfriend because she honestly was more than pleased with her good fortune in just finding someone like Volleyball, she wasn’t expecting to strike gold twice. Isn’t. Fuck.

Volleyball gives her a look over the strangers head like “Really? _Now_?”

Jensen’s cheeks flame, but the stranger is waiting expectantly, so she reaches up hesitantly, pulls her own helmet off. She brushes her ponytail out, so self-conscious of the frizziness in her curls, the way her bangs are twisting in different directions. 

"See?" she says, after a long silence while Kaikaina stares. "Human. Can we go now?"

"Yup!" The Kaikaina says, beaming widely. "You’re kinda hot, by the way."

Jensen skin flushes from neck to ears and she jams her helmet back on. Volleyball’s low chuckle reaches her though their private channel. 

"You should put your helmet back on," Jensen says, walking past her to lead them back to base. "It’s not safe…..and thank you."

"Don’t mind me," the stranger says. "I’ll just be back here. Admiring the view."

Brooke rolls her eyes and takes the rear, finger on the trigger, scope trained on what looks like the new girl’s knees.

"Which view?" Volleyball asks. 

“ _Anjali_ ,” Jensen hisses. 

Volleyball’s fingers brush just barely over the back of Jensen’s wrist, and Jensen feels the anxiety fall out of her. As much that she can let go of, that is. It’s still a warzone, this is still a stranger. 

"That an invite?" Kaikaina asks, tone what she probably thinks is sly.

"Let’s get you back to camp," Volleyball replies. "Get who you are sorted out. We’ll see."

*

Two months later Jensen is sitting between her two girlfriends in the mess and she really has no idea what happened. The war is still far from over, but she’s happy, so at least there’s that.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anxiety, food mention, more Jensen/Volleyball/Kaikaina

With promotion comes new perks, new responsibilities. A new cabin, a new team within Red Squad.

New fears.

 Which is why Kaikaina has liberated two dozen cookies and a very large tube of medical lube (just in case) and Volleyball has dragged all of their blankets onto the floor of Katie’s new cabin. They’re nesting, Jensen curled between them alternating between nibbling cookies and babbling in very specific distress. Volleyball is petting her hair and makes the occasionally cooing noise. Kaikaina has Jensen’s head in her lap. (Kaikaina may be also be multitasking comforting and hiding from Lady Bones, because when she finds out Kaikaina was in her supplies again it’s just best to wait until it blows over. Like brother like sister.)

"You’re gonna do great, LT," Volleyball says.

"I’m not an LT anymore!" Jensen hiccups. "I’ve been promoted!"

"Can I call you ‘Boss’ now?" Kaikaina asks. Volleyball sighs at her. "What about Mistress?"

"I don’t _want_ to be boss!” Jensen says, flailing a little in despair. “I want to trucks and computers. I _like_ trucks and computers! They don’t laugh at you!”

"No one’s gonna laugh at you," Volleyball tries. "You know Kimball wouldn’t promote you if she didn’t believe you can’t handle it, if you weren’t respected,  she’s good at—"

"You’re gonna kick ass!" Kaikaina chips in. "And you’ll be way better at it than, like, my brother. Oh, like, _me_.”

"I lisp!" Jensen retorts, "I lisp, I have a high voice, I’m not _good_ at telling people what to do—”

"Neither are half the Blood Gulch Captains—"

"And I’ve, like, totally seen you tell off that bitter kid and Tucker’s fanboy—"

"and I look like I’m twelve and I’m _short_ —”

"You’re not short!" Kaikaina blusters, pulling Jensen’s face protectively into her cleavage. Jensen has yet to figure out if she realizes she’s doing that when she does the protective-clutch. "You’re fun size! Like a fun-size Snickers!"

It startles a chuckle out of her. She extricates herself from Kaikaina’s chest (regretfully) and sits up to look up at her. 

"Okay, maybe, but—"

"What am I, then?" Volleyball interrupts, before she can work herself into a spiral again.

Kaikaina leers.

"Twix bar," she says, trailing her fingers up Volleyball’s  calves. "Long, thin, and way fun when you get them apart."

Jensen’s giggles again. Kaikaina places a chaste kiss on one of Volleyball’s knees, her eyes wicked. 

"So what’re you?" she asks Kaikaina.

"Isn’t it obvious?" Kaikaina asks. She arches her back, her considerable cleavage pushed out like a pinup model. "Reese’s Big Cup!"

Jensen giggles so hard she snorts, Volleyball rolling beside her. Kaikaina swoops in for a kiss,  and Jensen just has to kiss her, she just _has_ to, and she can feel Volleyball curving over her back, her laughter against the back of her neck, and that tight feeling in the middle of Jensen’s chest, it’s going away, it’s hard edges softened by all the warmth and softness around her.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For tumblr user whosthemonsternowbitch's birthday, prompt, Washingrey and Ed Sheeran's "Thinking Out Loud."

“I going to quit the hospital,” Emily tells him. 

Wash blinks at her. The wind rustles through the trees, sending leaves skittering down the path in front of them. Wash leans back against the bench they’re sitting on to get a better look at her.

She looks at him over her knitting and smiles.

“What?” he asks.

“I’m giving them six months’ notice tomorrow,” she says. 

He shifts on the bench they’re sitting on, tugs the collar up on his jacket. 

“You’re not going to be a Doctor anymore?” he asks.

“Don’t be silly, silly!” she says, “I’ll always be a doctor. I’m just going to do something else. I’m thinking architecture. Or demolition. Or both.”

The wind picks up again, making her curls wave in the breeze. He inhales and the smell of her perfume invades his senses, spicy and sweet. She told him the name of the incense was called “dragon’s blood” and he’d laughed, because _she would_.

He doesn’t know what he was expecting when they moved him to the Veteran’s Hospital after the mission that ended his career, but it definitely wasn’t Emily Grey. 

And now she’s leaving. 

“Well,” he forces out. “I’m glad you know what you want.”

She nods to herself, mouth moving as she counts stitches. 

“I’m going to get accepted to the University of New Melbourne in two weeks,” she continues. 

Wash doesn’t ask how she knows. She has an IQ of astronomic proportions and a M.D. there’s no way they won’t take her. No doors hold under the attentions of Emily Grey. Not even his. 

Well, he thinks, doors are for walking through. It’s not like he’s a stranger to people leaving.

“I thought you might want to come too,” she says. Wash startles.

“What?”

“I’m inviting you to move to New Melbourne with me,” she says. “The neurologist’s going to release you soon, you know. And they’re going to let you switch to private therapy, if you want. And New Melbourne’s got _excellent_ neurologists.”

“You checked?” he asks, incredulous.

She blinks at him.

“Of course.”

Wash clasps his hands together in his lap, tries to think. He doesn’t know anyone in New Melbourne. Do doesn’t know what he’d do in New Melbourne. What would he do here? What skills does he have, where will he work? What if it goes wrong? What if—

“You could use a haircut,” she says. Wash shakes it off, turns his attention back to her. “Up front. I know you like to keep it a little longer in back.”

“You going to learn how to do that too?” he asks, laughing and clamping down on the urge to smooth the hair covering the scars on the back of his neck. 

“Don’t be silly!” she laughs. “I already do.”

Wash stares at her and idly wonders if there’s anything she can’t do. But he also knows that if he looks down at that scarf it’ll be exquisitely knit, and such a horrifying combination of dark purple, gold, light blue, gray, yellow, and white that he’ll have his answer. (If she gives it to him, he’ll wear it anyway, soft wool against his throat.) He’s seen how she decorates her apartment. _Eye-bleeding worthy_.

But it won’t be her apartment soon. Because she’s moving to New Melbourne. 

The first time they met because he’d gotten lost. New guy, residential, and they’d sent him up to neuro for some sort of scan he can’t remember. (They didn’t know how bad it’d gotten yet) Except the floor had tilted, and when he’d managed to get to the elevator the numbers on the buttons all blurred together, even if he could remember which number the floor was on. He dimly remembered retreating under the glare of a green-uniformed janitor with a harsh face, remembers trying desperately to get away from a nurse in orange scrubs, his smile predatory, something off about him, reminded him of places he didn’t want to remember, couldn’t help but remember, reminded him about the circumstances that led him here in the first place.

A cool touch, gentle but firm on his wrist. Her eyes were huge behind purple horn-rimmed glasses, the first thing he remembers about her.

“Sweetie, you lost?” she said. “Where you trying to get to?”

He doesn’t remember what he mumbled, something about the scan, about neurology. 

“Oh, this is intake for the surgery wing,” she said. “Neuro’s on seven.”

He’d managed some thanks, trying to remember where the elevator—

“You with me? Hey—“

A light in his eyes, a thumb on his pulse, her voice low and concerned. 

She’d probably saved his life that day. He remembers her hand clasped in his, guiding him to sit—

“It’s okay to want to.”

Wash blinks, pulled out of the memory. 

“If you don’t want to, that’s okay, too,” Emily says, finishing a row. She’s not looking at him, eyes trained on her needles. “If you can’t have a relationship right now, that’s okay. But if you keep waiting until you’re ‘good enough’ for something, or ‘deserve’ it, you’re always going to be waiting. You can’t wait to have things, sometimes, you can’t wait for the perfect moment. You just have to do it when you want to. If you want to.”

Relationship. So he hadn’t been imagining it, the dance they’ve been doing. He hadn’t been getting his hopes up. 

She finishes her knitting, packing it away into the messenger bag at her feet. When she’s done, she sits back, spine curving easy against the bench, hands still in her lap. She looks up at him, big brown eyes behind those purple glasses. Dark curls spiraling down around her shoulders. Careful neutral expression, nothing like her usual cheer. This matters. This matters to her. 

“I don’t know what to do now,” he says. “I don’t have a plan.”

“I don’t have a plan, either,” she says. “I’m just going to do things I want to, one after another.”

Wash nods, turns away, chewing his lower lip. He can’t look in those eyes anymore, so he looks up at the hospital, backlit by the autumn sunset. His life is Befores and Afters, and most of them weren’t his choice. 

Wash sighs, shifting his weight to get up and sees the flash, quickly concealed, of disappointment. But he isn’t getting up, he’s sliding across the bench, breaching the space between him. Before something, anything inside him can stop himself, he brings an arm up wraps it around her shoulders. It’s stiff. He’s stiff, but the look in her eyes is soft. 

“You don’t have to answer now,” she says. “We’ve got some time.”

“Let’s just…try this right now,” he says. She rests her head on his shoulder, curls tickling his cheek. “This is good.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Long Live Red Team South

South rolls up to Blue base on a motorcycle the color of blood with a wicked grin.

“Hey, BLUETURDS!” She leans on the horn. The horn sounds like an audible manifestation of two middle fingers held up. “YOU SUCK!”

“Yeah, suck it, Blue!” the far-off voice of Simmons chimes in.

“Are the Reds back?” Caboose asks, sticking his head out of a doorway. “Are they selling cookies again?”

“Get lost, Red!” Tucker yells from inside the base. 

“Why don’t you make me, fuckbucket!” South calls back, leaning on the horn. “Or are you _scared?”_

“South.” Washington appears on the roof of the base with his usual invisible overcoat of despair. “What are you doing?” 

“Sweet ride, huh?” South cocking her helmet at him. She runs a hand over the the paint job lovingly. “Me’n Lopez got her tricked out.”

“You want to brag?” Wash asks. “Yeah, okay. It’s a cool bike.”

“Whatever,” Tucker chimes in, climbing onto the roof to stand beside Wash, arms crossed with annoyance. “I’ve seen cooler. We’ve got a tank, and _size does matter.”_

“Oi, this lady can do way more between my legs than you ever could, Tucker,” South jeers. 

Tucker squawks, affronted. 

“This is ridiculous, South,” Wash interrupts. “Get back to your base.”

“I could do that,” South says, reaching behind her back. “I could do that with… _this_.”

She pulls out the deactivated handle of Tucker’s sword from behind her back. Tucker squawks again, this time in anger.

“How did you even—” Wash starts.

“Stealth, motherfuckers!” South cheers, turning the bike and spraying dirt against the side of the base. “SUCK IT BLUE!”

“IT WON’T EVEN WORK FOR YOU!” Tucker hollers after her. “YOU CAN’T GET IT UP!”

“NEITHER CAN YOU NOW, BITCH!” South yells over her shoulder, speeding back to Red Base. 

Tucker swear a Blue streak and launches himself off the roof after her. 

“Did we get Think Mints,” Caboose asks. “Those are my favorite.”

Wash steps into the Man Cannon, shooting past Tucker in hot pursuit of the manically laughing figure on the bike disappearing between the hills of Valhalla. 

He has to turn off his helmet radio so Tucker doesn’t hear him trying not to laugh.


	16. Chapter 16

“So, my brother, right?” South says, shoving open the door to her apartment building. It always sticks with the summer heat. “He’s a square.” 

“A square?” Kaikaina asks, trailing after her. “Laaaame.”

The door slams behind them and South laughs. It echoes up the stairwell, all the way up. 

Kai skips up the stairs behind her. South grins. She won’t be doing that five floors up. Or maybe she will, Kai’s always been way more athletic than anyone expects her to be. Whatever. Their failure. 

“You have no idea,” South continues, rolling her eyes. “Total boyscout.”

“Naw, I meant _you_!” Kaikaina teases. “Who says square anymore? Laaame.”

“So, my brother,” South repeats loudly. “Isn’t even a fucktruck. He’s a fuck-Prius.”

“Better,” Kai nods approvingly. “So why’s he a fuck-Prius??”

“He used to be cool,” South says. “Like, kinda cool. You can still see where the piercings were, in his cartilage. If you look hard enough. And he can still play the bass pretty well. Pff. Even when he was cool he was boring. Anyway, he’s a total dork. Who even wears turtlenecks anymore?”

Kaikaina blinks up at her from the landing below.

“All I heard was piercings and good with his fingers.”

South snorts.

“You would,” she says. “Do me a favor, ask him if he has any tattoos and then tell me what color he turns?” South asks, fumbling with her keys.

“What’s in it for me?” Kai asks, mouth turning down doubtfully.

South and Kai are friends for a couple reasons, the most important of which is they share a very specific idea of _entertainment_. But even Kaikaina stops to think when South suggests they do something; bail is something that should only be paid, like, once a month.

South pauses, thinking.

“Maybe he’ll show you the tattoo?” she says.

“Really?!” Kaikaina instantly brightening up.

“Eh, probably not.”

“Awwww.”

They continue climbing in silence for another floor.

“So, anything else I should know about your dweeb brother?” Kai asks. “Like, since you meeting my lame brother went so well.”

Eh, at least Grif got over it. And Simmons will most likely recover. But yeah, they could avoid that kind of clusterfuck again.

“Nahhh.”

They’re almost there. South starts rifling through her bag, searching for her keys. 

“Is he dating anyone?”

“You interested, Grif?” South teases, batting her eyelashes down at her. Kaikaina laughs.

“A girl like me doesn’t turn down someone good with their fingers,” she says, “But one Dakota’s more than enough for me!”

“Ch’yeah, better be,” South says, flexing her biceps. “Flatterer. I’ll tell Connie to watch out.”

She keeps going through her bag, cursing at the lost keys. Why does she have so much shit in here?

“So, _is_ he dating anyone?”

South frowns, wallet clutched between her teeth. 

“Y’know?” she drops the wallet back into her bag. “I don’t really know. I get the feeling he’s been hiding something from me, but he mighta just rescued some baby birds or some shit again. I dunno.”

She finally digs hey keys out and get the door to their apartment open.

“Hey, NORTH! I know you’re home!” South yells as they walk inside. South knows Kai won’t comment on the stupid color scheme, she’s colorblind. “I saw your car in the lot, dumbass! Where are you?”

She crosses over to his room door and hammers on it. Sometimes he takes midday naps. Even when he hasn’t even been out the night before. _Laaaame._

“North! North get your ass out here, I gotta show you something!” No response. “North!”

There’s a shift of motion inside. South frowns, leans closer to the door, listening. Kai appears with a glass. South shakes her head.

There’s a quiet sound inside, and then a low laugh. A shhing noise.

“North Dakota, do you have a _guest_ in there?”

There’s some muffled cursing and a sudden cessation of sound, and then the door’s swinging open. Or not really so much as swinging open as stopping, the shirtless, flushed and above all _annoyed_ form of North blocking their view into the room beyond.

“ _What_?” he demands.

“You’re big,” Kai says. He squints at her.

“Ooh, busted,” South cackles. “Oh, yeah, hey, this is Kaikaina. My partner in crime.”

“Sometimes literally,” Kaikaina chips in, trying to peer past him into the room beyond.

She must see something because her face breaks into a big grin.

“Hey, Cop!” she greets over North’s shoulder. 

The look of embarrassed despair on her brother’s face is priceless. South wishes she could get a picture. It gets worse when whoever’s in the room speaks up.

“I’m not a—”

“Dude, shut up,” a second voice shushes.

South’s eyes bulge. North sighs.

“Was that _Wash?_ ” she asks, voice light with glee. “Was that Wash _and_ York?”

Kai whistles in approval. North hangs his head.

“Hey, South,” York calls from beyond the door. 

“Hey, York!” South calls back. “I owe ‘Lina ten bucks!”

“Ha!”

North raises his head to look at her dolefully.

“You know what?” he says. “Get it over with.”

“Get what over with?” South asks, almost the picture of innocence. Almost “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You know, this is why I didn’t tell you in the first place,” North tries.

“Successfully hiding _two boyfriends from your loving sister—”_

“Two,” Kaikaina adds, nodding. “High five, bro.”

North stares at her. 

“I’m…not going to do that right now.”

Kaikaina nods knowingly. 

“Tomorrow is the next day of your life,” South tells him. “I’m changing my alarm to Britney’s ‘Three’ immediately.”

“South—”

Kai sees the tips of some very gelled hair shortly before a face appears, hooked over Norths’ shoulder. It appears to be kind of difficult for him, like he’s up on tiptoe and he nearly keeps dropping out of view.

“Hey, South,” he says.

“Hey, York,” South grins. “Nice seein’ you. How you been?”

York tries to shrug.

“Aw, you know,” he says. 

He waggles his eyebrows teasingly at Kai, jerks a thumb at North.

“Can I borrow him for a bit?” York asks, his smile going a big crooked. “We were kind of in the middle of something.”

“Well, if you insist,” South sighs.

“WE DO!” Wash yells from inside.

“Does he really have a cop uniform?” Kai asks. 

“…You’re Kai, aren’t you?” North asks.

“Bye,” York says, grabbing North and closes the door. 

“BYE!” South yells through the door. “STAY FOR BREAKFAST SOMETIME. WE CAN HAVE BRUNCH LIKE CLASSY FUCKERS.”

“GOODBYE, SOUTH.” North yells through the door. “NICE TO MEET YOU, KAI.”

“I take it we’re not going to stay and listen,” Kaikaina asks. “South stares at her. “Thought not. BYE COP.”

“I’M NOT A—”

The rest of Wash’s reply is muffled from the apartment door closing behind them.

“Hey, I think I saw his tattoo after all.”


	17. Chapter 17

“This is so romantic,” Donut gushes. He smoothes his frilly apron down over his thighs and giggles.

“No, it fucking _isn’t_ ,” South snaps. She’s busily engaged in the art of not moving. It’s very difficult for her. “It’s not fucking romantic, it’s brutal. This is a battle plan. This, Donut, is _war._ Keep it together, Poptart.”

Donut huffs at her in that tone that means he thinks she’s being silly and also ruining all his fun.

“Still think it’s romantic,” he sighs.

They both roll their eyes at each other when they think the other isn’t looking. Neither of them mind, though. Donut and South had what one might call a rocky start, but that’s over with now. They’d bonded over their mutual appreciation over the arts of winged eyeliner and making other people uncomfortable, and the rest was Red Team History. Or at least, recorded with much despair in Simmons’s journal.

Which is why they’re currently the only two in the kitchen. And also why the reason South isn’t moving is because she’s currently standing in the middle of a growing tower of yellow cake. Pyramid of cake. It has tiers, is what I’m saying. It encircles her, and the topmost tier has reaches clear to her elbows.

Donut bends and pulls another batch of cakes out of the oven and the smell fills the room.

“Are we almost done?” South demands. “This is taking forever.”

“You can’t rush art,” Donut insists.  

Grif saunters into the room.

“Hey, so—“

“No,” Donut and South chorus.

Grif eyes the dirty batter bowls in the sink. Donut sighs and hands one to him.

“Now go sit in the corner, away from the cake,” he orders.

Grif retreats happily with his bowl.

“This plan’s stupid,” he says, settling down. “But also, I think it might possibly be the best thing we’ve ever come up with.”

“The plan’s not stupid,” South protests.  “The plan’s brilliant.”

“The plan’s fucking dumb,” Simmons says, striding into the room with the air of a person caught between annoyance and distress. “I can’t believe Sarge is letting you do this.”

“Kiss-ass,” South sing-songs. “Better take some rimming classes if you want to keep up, jerk-wad.”

Grif chokes on his spoonful of batter as Simmons finds a way to somehow blush _through_ his armor.

Donut gives her a thumbs up and South beams, shaking her red-tipped hair out of her face with exaggerated delicacy.

“Okay, they’re cool! This should be the last of it!” Donut announces. He pops the last remaining cakes out of their pans and considers the hulking mass of cake and South critically.

“Are you going to be able to breathe in there?” he asks, frowning.

“I can survive in space,” South replies archly. “I can survive being covered in cake. Gimme my helmet.”

Donut shrugs, but does.

“If you say so,” he says. “Get down there, then. Squat for me. I gotta put the top on.”

“I’ll top you,” South retorts, trying to figure out how to lower herself without disturbing the cake.

“You wish,” Donut replies breezily.

“I hate you both,” Simmons says.

“No batter for you,” Donut says, sticking his tongue out at him. He reaches into the cake and closes the cardboard box at the center holding South over her head, starts piling the newly cooled cakes on.

“C’mon, Grif, you can’t be okay with this,” Simmons tries. “You know she’s just doing this so she can fuck your sister.”

“So?” Grif asks, spooning more batter into his mouth. “Hey, South! Can you get my sister pregnant?”

“Nope!” South yells from inside the cake. “Sure can’t!”

“Then I got nothin’ to worry about,” Grif says, leaning back.

Simmons opens his mouth to retort, but stops as the stomping sound of Sarge’s boots approaches.

“How goes preparations?” Sarge demands from the doorway. “What’s taking so long!?”

“It’s a lot of cake, sir!” Donut says. He retrieves the icing and starts icing the last remaining cakes. “Almost finished!”

“Sarge, are we honestly doing this?” Simmons whines. “Trojan cake? Trojan stripper?”

“Simmons! No one wants to hear about your Trojans!” Sarge yells. “Now let’s go over the plan.”

“Sir!” South calls from inside the cake. “Upon discovery that today is Blue Team Private Kai—I mean, Sister’s birthday, we decided to take advantage of this intelligence to gain access to Blue Base!”

“We roll the cake, with South inside, up to Blue Base as a birthday present,” Donut continues.

“From her loving brother,” Grif adds. “Who’s going to lick all the bowls in payment for telling you all this shit in the first place and letting you take advantage of my baby sister’s birth—“

Donut hands him another batter bowl and he shuts up.

“After the Blues bring the cake inside, and South is alone with Kaikaina,” Donut says, “South jumps out and—“

“—springs the trap!” South interrupts. “After which I signal you guys and Blue Base is ours. Victory, bitches.”

Sarge makes a pleased sounding grunt.

“Done!” Donut yells. “It’s ready!”

“Let’s get this sucker rolled out to the Warthog!” Sarge yells. “We got a war to win!”

“You all right in there, South?” Donut asks.

“I’m perfect,” South’s voice comes from within, voice alight with glee.

The cake begins to rock and bump as they push it out to the Warthog and hook the cake’s stand up to the back, and begin the trek across the valley.  South waits.

She knows they’ve gotten to Blue Base when she hears Sarge sing out, “Blues! Yoohoo! _Special Delivery!”_

South grins. Thinks about Kaikaina’s face when she springs out of the cake. Surprise! Icing-covered girlfriend, standing in your living room. And Sarge outside, patiently waiting for her signal, _South wouldn’t let us down_. Naw, they’ll have plenty of time before teammates get in the way.

Special delivery indeed.


	18. Bit by Bit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if this is for anneapocalypse, or her fault, but either way Volleyball/South because I cannot be stopped

The first time you fall a little bit in love with her is when Felix brings her back to camp, swearing and clearly scowling through her helmet and dripping blood all over the back of the jeep because “Fuck you, you sub-standard soda-can wannabe, I’m not taking your fucking biofoam pen. How’d I know what’s innit, you trying to poison me, asshole? Fuckin’ thing looks like it’s from the Jurassic Era, I’ll keep bleedin’ instead of jabbing that rusty-ass thing in my–”

You pause with a burger halfway to your mouth to watch the jeep go by, Felix in the front seat with some purple-and-green armored soldier in the back. You don’t answer the first few times Jensen calls your name, only wake from the daze when Bitters nudges your elbow and makes you get ketchup all over your chin.

“Yo, Volleyball, answer her,” he says, completely unrepentant as you grab a napkin. Shove him off the bench in retaliation. Palomo laughs.

“Who the hell was that?” you ask, nodding after the departing jeep.

“Dunno. Felix was going to investigate the downed Pelican, though,” Jensen says.

“Well, whoever he found, she sure’s giving him a run for his money,” Andersmith says.

You nod, throw the soiled napkin on the table, face cleaned.

“She was, wasn’t she?”

Her name is Agent South Dakota and that’s the only name she’ll give any of you. And the first thing she does is give Felix a run for his money, literally, when she proves in a quick spar that she’s worth a higher pay grade than him.

You get assigned as her Lieutenant.

The first thing you learn about her is, holy hell, she can look you in an eye. You don’t have to crick your neck looking down at her. She might even have an inch on you. _Sweet._

You salute a beat too late, distracted by her, all of her, there’s so much of her to be distracted by, but you don’t think that’s the reason why she’s scowling.

“Lieutenant Volleyball, reporting for Pink Squad Duty, sir!”

“Volleyball?” Agent South asks, lip curling. Your face heats.

“Sorry, nicname. Feels like it might as well be my name around here.”

She snorts, turns away.

“Good enough for me. Let’s get to work.”

The second time you fall a little bit in love with her, you’re convinced you’re all going to die. The squad’s separated, you don’t even know where Cecily and Brit are anymore and it’s just you and Captain South taking fire from behind some boulders when you see him.

Locus.

Volleyball, for a moment, you freeze in terror. Because it’s _him_ , it’s the monster, it’s the man whose presence single-handedly guarantees fatalities in any mission, the man who has killed so many you’ve known, and there’s no Felix to distract him with. It feels like that eyeless helmet stares straight down into your heart and sees how to make it stop, permanently, and you’re suddenly, desperately glad Jensen didn’t come on this one.

“What’d’you see?” South snaps, returning fire. She likes you to be her eyes while she focuses on the most immediate threats. “Volleyball, report!”

“Locus,” you whisper, spine curling into the rock behind you. “He’s here.”

South grunts an acknowledgement. Holsters her rifle and swings the RPG off her back, and puts a hand to her mouth.

“Hey, asshole!“ she screams. “How bout you go back to jerking off to shitty Batman flicks until you get this villain shit right!”

Silence.

You blink, dimly noting South checking her weapon, the little sounds. Someone coughs awkwardly.

“This D-List villain shit’s beneath you, man!” South continues. “You try real hard, keep eating your wheaties, I bet you can make,” she pauses exaggeratedly, biting her lip, “I bet you could be just as scary as that Penguin guy, or maybe The Riddler? How do you feel about spandex?”

Locus growls, seems to come back to himself, and takes a step forward, and that’s when South moves. She swings around, RPG on her shoulder, and fires. The shot goes wide, but he can’t see that, lunging out of the way as the grenade shoots by his head. He’s raising that terrifying gun of him but Captain South is switching weapons again, RPG dropped at her feet and battle rifle aimed, shot going off.

Locus yells as the bullet plows through his shoulder, blood spattering just for a moment, but you see it. The man is not a machine. He bleeds.

Then Captain South is grabbing you by the shoulder, pulling you up, hissing, _run, we’re out of here, sweetheart. Take point._ So you run.

"This is Captain South, all retreat, pull out, do not hesitate, do not wait to finish off your partner, we’re out, I repeat, retreat–” she’s yelling into the radio, and you can hear her feet pounding behind you, but you keep your eyes front. South told you to keep your eyes front for hostiles until you reached the rendezvous point, but all you can think about between zeroing in on every twitch of movement in front of you as you run is that you’d have like to seen the look on her face when Locus dodged that rpg shot, when she clipped him with her rifle. When she made the tin soldier bleed.

The third time you fall a bit in love with her you catch her at the sink. Again. Staring into her own eyes like she’s not sure who that person in the mirror is. Her hair seems to glow in the shitty bathroom light, looks almost green, shadows around the tips framing her face. Faded dye. You can’t even tell which shade of purple it was.

Which is why you place the tube down next to her, carefully, deliberately. You’ve learned as long as you move with confidence, no sudden moves, she won’t react to you like this.

“Purple,” you say into the silence. “Could get you a different shade if it isn’t right, Boss.”

Her fingers close around the tube, tilting it into the light. She doesn’t look at you, shaggy bangs falling over her eyes. She seems softer now, softer than you’ve ever seen her. The cut of her jaw, the scar across it are still sharp. Her muscles are still tight and tense, always ready to blow. Her palms look rough as ever, but somehow she looks soft, as soft as she can.

“Isn’t right,” she says, finally. “Not anymore.”

You try not to stare. Try to wait as patiently as you can but you were never good at patience.

“Why not?” you ask. She doesn’t answer, flicks a thumb against the cap of the tube.

“Purple’s not my color anymore,” she says, finally. “Can’t keep wearing it forever.”

“You say the word, Boss,” you say. “Any color you want.”

South snorts, straightens up at the mirror, dropping the tube back on the sink. She turns to look at you and you try to keep your face blank, good soldier, professional. Keep it together, Volleyball.

“How bout pink?” she says.

Your lips curl up.

“Hot pink, sir?” you ask. You can picture that, violent pink swinging around her cheeks.

“Nah,” she says, stepping forward. She taps a knuckle against your breastplate, against the highlights on your shoulder pauldrons.

“Bubblegum,” she says. “Bout time I matched my girls, huh?”

Her shoulder brushes yours on the way out of the bathroom and you imagine it feels warm, or maybe that’s just the flush blooming in our chest.

“You coming, V?” South calls from the door.

“Yeah, Boss!” you shove on your helmet, just catch the door as it closes. By the time you make it out, Captain South is halfway across the training field, moving fast, eyes ahead.

“You’re in love with your captain, aren’t you?” Bitters asks, stepping up behind you. You don’t even know where he came from.

You absently rub the pink on your gauntlets. Picture your captain with that color swinging around her lips, framing that shit-eating grin you’re come to– yeah.

“Yeah,” you say. “Bad.”


End file.
